


A Patchwork Family: Missing Sam

by Lbilover



Series: A Patchwork Family Series [11]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Reunions, Separations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 14:18:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9495437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lbilover/pseuds/Lbilover
Summary: Sam is away, Frodo is missing him, and Huan is wise.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Makes reference to events that occurred in _At the Sign of the Golden Perch_.

* * *

__ Astron, 1421   
  
Frodo crouched and set one final log on the fire in the study. He remained where he was for a few minutes, holding his fingers out to the snapping, dancing flames, before finally rising and turning to the small inlaid wood table beside his armchair. He took up a bottle from the table and carefully poured a measure of amber-gold wine into a glass. He didn’t even realise until he was finished that he’d done so using his maimed hand. Sam would have noticed at once, and smiled to see how Frodo had used that hand: instinctively and without thought.   
  
Cradling the wide curved bowl of the glass in his palm, the stem between his spread fingers, Frodo sank into the chair’s plumply upholstered cushions. An instant later a small blue-grey dog hopped up and joined him, occupying the space that Frodo had, as usual, left for him. Huan rested his pointed muzzle on Frodo’s brown velvet covered knee with a tiny canine sigh of content.    
  
Frodo sipped his wine and gazed into the fire, a pleasant lassitude stealing over him. He’d worked hard all day inside the smial, cooking and cleaning, but then he’d worked hard  _ every _  day since Sam had left, in an effort to distract himself and keep melancholy at bay.   
  
“There’s naught better to take your mind off your worries than a job that needs doing,” Sam’s gaffer had said to Frodo, and it was true.    
  
Hamfast Gamgee had taken to coming up to Bag End each day since Sam’s departure. Ostensibly, of course, the Gaffer was there to look after the garden, but Frodo wondered if he wasn’t really there to look after him-- at Sam’s request. The old hobbit did little actual work, but stumped along after Frodo offering advice or sat on a bench in the shade with Huan on his lap while Frodo planted and watered and pulled the first green shoots of weeds appearing in the soil.    
  
If Sam  _ had _  made such a request of his father, Frodo couldn’t object. Since the day the Gaffer had finally decided to accept Sam’s relationship with the Master of Bag End, and set aside any other dreams he’d had for his youngest son, he’d acted like a different hobbit around Frodo, and Frodo realised, as he had with Sam, that there was more to him than met the eye. His store of aphorisms grew stale quite quickly, but the Gaffer had a dry sense of humour that he’d never let show in the old days, and they shared more than a few laughs. It was possible, too, that the Gaffer, like Frodo, had changed during the months of the Quest. If nothing else, each had a new appreciation for that extraordinary hobbit named Samwise Gamgee.   
  
Their love for Sam was a deep bond between them, and though neither spoke of it, they both missed him. Missing Sam… Frodo could feel against his breast the rough scratch of paper. It was the letter from Sam that had arrived a se’ennight ago. He’d kept it close to his heart day and night, a foolishly sentimental gesture that the old Frodo would have found unthinkable. But a little sentimentality wasn’t a bad thing, Frodo had learned.   
  
As if divining his thoughts, Huan gave a low unhappy whine; Frodo could feel the vibration of it against his knee. He missed Sam, too.   
  
"Aren’t we a pair," Frodo said ruefully, and stroked his free hand gently along the length of Huan's side. As ever, the silken softness of the whippet's sleek fur was a delight to the touch, while the steady beat of Huan’s heart beneath his palm worked a subtle charm against sorrow and loneliness. "But Sam will be home soon,” he went on with determined brightness, “tomorrow perhaps—if the weather relents, that is.” His gaze went to the window, where rivulets of rain were chasing each other down the leaded panes.    
  
Rain had been coming down steadily all day, and the unremitting gloom had inclined Frodo towards the melancholia he’d been trying so hard to resist. But it wasn’t only the rain: Sam had been away for nearly two weeks now, and time did not accustom Frodo to his absence; it only made him miss him the more. Several times in the past few days, he had even found his hand straying toward the star-gem at his breast, though he’d deliberately stopped himself from grasping it. It was not for  _ this _ , after all, that Queen Arwen had given it to him.    
  
He still wore the beautiful gem on its silver chain out of respect for the Queen, and worry that it might be misplaced, but the memories of fear and darkness, though they yet existed and ever would, no longer troubled him. Sam’s absence, though, troubled him greatly, even while he knew it was absurd to believe that they would never be separated. Both had obligations to family and friends, and Sam could not have turned down Hal Sandheaver’s invitation to visit him and his family at their new home in Buckland. The invitation had been in reality more a plea for help, though couched in such terms that that proud and independent farmer was able to save face.    
  
Frodo could have gone with Sam, of course, but it would have been a strain on the Sandheavers' household, and besides, there was Huan to consider, too. It would take time for the whippet to forget and forgive what Hal had done to him- if he ever did. It had only made sense for Sam to go alone, but the heart wasn’t a sensible organ, and Frodo’s ached.   
  
Sleep had proved elusive, and every night since the first Frodo had resorted to taking a couple of goose-down pillows and several thick quilts and bedding down on the sofa in the study. With Huan curled up at his chest and his head tucked comfortingly beneath Frodo’s chin, Frodo had been able to find a modicum of peace and rest, away from the bed he shared with Sam, where he had turned and reached out that first night and found only a cold and empty space.   
  
It was strange to look back on the years before the Quest, when he had been a contented bachelor living and sleeping happily alone, and Sam had been simply…Sam, his gardener and friend. In those days, Frodo had believed that Sam would, in the fullness of time and with his master’s blessing, wed a sweet hobbit-lass and father a brood of curly-haired children, one of whom would eventually come to Bag End to apprentice in the garden, as Sam had under his own father.    
  
Never once on those sunny summer mornings when Sam had entered his bedchamber to pull back the curtains and wake him with a cheerful, ‘It’s a fine morning and no mistake, Mr. Frodo’, had Frodo thought of inviting Sam to share his bed. Now it was impossible to imagine waking without the strength and security of Sam’s arms around him or the sleep-roughened ‘Morning, Frodo-love’ he would murmur into Frodo’s ear.   
  
But that brought back to the fore the current lack of Sam in both life and bed. He continued to sip his wine with his feet stretched out toward the fire, deliberately resisting the urge to take Sam’s letter out and read it. It was a game he played with himself every evening, teasing out the moment as if it were flax on a spindle, being spun into fine thread.    
  
Huan was watching him intently, as he often did, and Frodo thought that there was a slightly exasperated expression in the whippet’s dark eyes.  _ Hobbits _ , he seemed to be saying,  _ there’s simply no understanding them. If you wish to read the letter, then why don’t you? _   
  
“Here is an aphorism for you, Huan, and not one of the Gaffer’s:  _ A pleasure deferred is all the sweeter when it arrives. _  But I expect you will not agree with me,” Frodo added, thinking of Huan’s nightly tap dance of impatience as he waited for his dinner and how every reunion with his hobbits was cause for joyous celebration, even if they’d only been apart for an hour.    
  
“Very well.” He drew the letter from his breast and carefully unfolded it. Just the sight of Sam's handwriting- unembellished and straightforward, strong and positive like the hobbit himself- lifted his heart. "I hope you don't mind listening to the letter again," he addressed the little whippet. "I miss him so, and it makes me feel closer to him somehow when I read it aloud."   
  
Huan uttered a low  _ woof _ , and Frodo, taking this as an affirmative, began to read.   
  
__ Dear Frodo,   
  
I hope you are keeping well, and Huan, too.   
  
The whippet’s rose ears snapped to attention at the mention of his name, as they did every time it appeared in the letter, and Frodo smiled.    
  
__ Bill and me made it to Buckland safe and sound, though he cast a shoe a few miles outside Stock, and I had to find a smithy in the town to replace it. It didn’t delay us overlong, for the smith had heard tell of me seemingly. He wouldn’t even finish what he was doing, but made a new shoe for Bill as soon as may be. Wouldn’t let me pay him so much as a penny, neither.    
  
I’d meant to ride straight through to the farm, but it was getting late by the time we were ready to take to the road again, so I supped and spent the night at the  _ Golden Perch _ . I didn’t like to roust the Sandheavers from their beds in the middle of the night.    
  
Frodo, it felt right queer and no mistake to be back at the  _ Perch _  after what happened last time. But folk couldn’t have been kinder or more welcoming. Madoc Longhole asked to be remembered to you. He told me his daughter Daisy has got herself engaged to a servant at Brandy Hall. I reckon you’ll be glad to hear the news.   
  
“Glad, indeed.” Frodo laughed. “Sam  _ can _  be downright cheeky, can’t he,” he commented to Huan, recalling the innkeeper’s attractive daughter and her unsuccessful attempts to interest Sam in her abundant charms.   
  
_ I’m happy to report that the beer is just as good as it was when we stopped there. Since you weren’t along to threaten to make me sleep on the common-room floor if I got drunk and snored, I admit I did have a few. But it helped me to sleep, Frodo. I was missing you something fierce. _   
  
Frodo’s voice quavered slightly, and then he read on.  _ I was up betimes and nearly out the door when a voice hailed me. It was that Mistress Tunnelly. Gave me a turn, she did, and I nearly bolted. I ain’t forgiven her yet for making me stay in bed while you were off looking for Huan. _  Frodo found himself adopting the aggrieved note he felt sure would have been in Sam’s voice.  _ She asked me how my noggin was, and laughed when I said it was fine and there weren’t no need to go examining it. _   
  
“Oh Sam, my dear Sam.” Frodo shook his head in amusement.    
  
__ She asked after you and Huan very kindly, and, well, I reckon she ain’t so bad, really.   
  
Bill and me arrived at the Sandheaver’s farm by second breakfast, and Hal and Bell couldn’t have made me more welcome, Frodo. They’ve worked such wonders in the house and around the farm, you’d not believe it, and if ever you’ve doubted whether you did the right thing in asking Merry to help them, there’s no need.    
  
We’ve been right busy with clearing land- pulling out stumps and digging up rocks. ‘Tis hard work, even with the ponies, but Merry’s sent a few stout lads from Brandy Hall to help, and we’ve made good progress. I reckon Hal’s learning willy-nilly not to turn down a helping hand, and I’m right glad of it.    
  
I’m too tired of an evening to do much more than eat my supper and fall into bed, but otherwise I’d toss and turn and fret, thinking on you and how much I miss you.   
  
“As I miss you,” Frodo said, as if he and Sam were holding a conversation.   
  
__ I’ve had some talk with Hal about a proper flower garden. It seems queer not to see flowers blooming around the house, save a few daffydowndillies and violets that are growing wild. He don’t see the point to putting work into anything that ain’t of practical use, but I can tell Bell would like it fine, and I’ve some hope of changing his mind before I leave.    
  
Young Theo’s all in favour of the idea. He reminds me of me when I was a lad: so curious and so full of questions he’s about to burst at the seams with them. He was asking me about Elves, Frodo. Elves! I told him some of Mr. Bilbo’s old stories, and a little about Lothlórien and the Lady, and he et them up. It seemed funny to be the one a-telling the tales, instead of listening. Funny, but nice. Hal told him to stop pestering me and not be a nuisance. But I don’t mind, though I reckon I understand how you and Mr. Bilbo must have felt at times when I was tagging after you and chattering away like a magpie.   
  
It’s been on my mind that I could use a hand in the garden, Frodo. My gaffer ain’t up to it no more, and while you’re a sight of help (don’t you never think otherwise), it ain’t right for you to be labouring like that. Besides, we ain’t neither of us growing no younger, and we need to think on the future. I reckon you ken where this is leading, Frodo dear, knowing me so well as you do. I’ve some mind to bring young Theo to Bag End to apprentice in the garden in a year or so, and if his folks will allow it. He’s got green fingers, but he’s more interested in trees and flowers than crops, and there are his two older brothers to help Hal around the farm. But we can talk more about that when I get home.    
  
Home. My eyes will be glad to see it, and you. Most of all you. There was such a grand sunset this evening, Frodo, and I wondered if you were watching it, too. You know I ain’t a poet, not like Mr. Bilbo or the Elves, but there’s been times, like now, I wish I was. Maybe then I could say proper how you look to me when we’re in the garden of an evening and the fading light is a golden glory on your face and in your eyes, and I can scarce breathe for the wonder of it. I hope you ain’t laughing, Frodo. My poor words don’t do you justice, not by a long shot.   
  
It was at this point that Frodo’s voice faltered to a halt every time and the words began to swim on the page. “ _ Laughing _ . Oh Sam, as if I ever could,” Frodo said. “You  _ are _  a poet, and so I shall tell you when next I see you.”   
  
“No need, Frodo-love. You’ve just told me. Though, I can’t say as I agree.”   
  
For a moment Frodo thought he was imagining Sam’s beloved voice, for he had been hearing it so clearly in his mind as he read. Then he whipped his head around and there, standing in the door, was Sam in truth. His grey cloak was dripping water all over the clean floor and his feet were muddy, as if in his eagerness to find Frodo he’d not even paused to rinse them in the basin by the door. He looked weary and travel-stained and very, very beautiful to Frodo’s eyes.   
  
“Sam!” Frodo exulted, and casting aside the letter, he jumped to his feet. “Oh, you’re  _ home _ .” He flew at Sam and threw himself into arms that were ready and waiting and gathered him in eagerly. Their mouths met, and Sam’s rain cool lips had warmed beneath Frodo’s before they slowly and reluctantly drew apart.    
  
Then Sam turned his attention to Huan, dancing excitedly around their feet, and lightly tapped his shoulders in invitation. At once Huan sprang into his arms and gave Sam’s face an enthusiastic welcome-home washing with his pink tongue.    
  
“But we weren’t expecting you until tomorrow at the earliest,” Frodo said, smiling so hard his cheeks ached, and oh, that was so much better than an aching heart. “Not that I’m complaining. Oh Sam, it is so  _ good _  to have you home.” He slid his arm through Sam’s and hugged it. “But you’re cold and wet quite through. You oughtn’t to have ridden in this downpour.”   
  
“Now Frodo, you didn’t imagine I’d let a little rain delay me, did you?” Sam asked, grinning. “Bill was as eager to get home as I was, and he wouldn’t hear of stopping.”    
  
“Remind me to give Bill an extra carrot next time we visit the stables,” Frodo said, and Sam laughed. “Oh, but I’ve missed your laugh, Sam. I’ve missed  _ you _ …” It was awkward, kissing Sam while he was still holding Huan in his arms, but Frodo managed it.    
  
“I’m surprised our Huan didn’t hear me come in,” Sam said. “More reliable than a doorbell he is most times, and I’d not have tracked mud all through the smial looking for you.” He looked ruefully down at the puddles forming around his feet.   
  
“Bah,” replied Frodo. “As if a few puddles matter. Besides, between the rain and your beautiful words, Huan probably didn’t hear you.”   
  
Sam blushed.    
  
But as a matter of fact Huan  _ had _  heard Sam come in. Only for once, he’d decided not to alert Frodo to Sam’s arrival.  __ A pleasure deferred is all the sweeter when it arrives,  Frodo had said. While it might not be the way of a dog, for hobbits it seemed to work very well indeed.   
  
“And oh Sam,” Frodo went on, “it was as if your very words had conjured you, and I looked around and there you were…”    
  
Huan did get a little squashed this time, but in the face of his hobbits’ happiness, how could he object?    
  
~end~


End file.
